


Adventures In Dragon Sitting

by orphan_account



Series: Dragon Dad Melkor [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dragon Dad Melkor, Gen, not so dark - dark lords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-04-28 20:19:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14456973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: In Angband Melkor and Mairon hatch and raise the dragons that will one day strike fear into the hearts of men, elves, and dwarves.Featuring small dragons, a proud Melkor, and a Mairon who is trying his best to keep it together.-A collection of small stories, too short to stand alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [poe_tay_toe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/poe_tay_toe/gifts), [AsgardianAngels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AsgardianAngels/gifts).



> Originally posted on my Tumblr.

The soft clicking of tiny claws upon armour filled the room as the dragon climbed into Melkor’s lap, pawing against his chest for attention. Flakes of frost issued from its mouth as gazed up at him, tail swinging back and forth excitedly

“You spoil them,” Mairon said, a hint of a smile on his face as he ascended the steps to the throne.

Melkor grinned holding his hand before the dragon as it balanced on his arm and let out a puff of icy breath. A fine effort for a hatching, thought it would be some time before he grew to the power of his sires. Still, it was enough for a scratch upon the head from his father, and chiefly what the youngster had sought.

“What Vala loves their creation so?” Mairon whispered, leaning on the throne arm and glancing up to where yet another (much smaller) dragon sat perched upon Melkor’s head.

Black with bright yellow eyes it clung to Melkor’s hair with small feet. A safe perch upon which to watch the room and spy out any bits of meat dropped by his larger siblings.

“The new nest should hatch any day now,” Mairon informed him as Melkor welcomed another dragon into his arms. “A new kind. Larger, and I hope in time to breed those which more protected undersides.”

Melkor nodded his head in acknowledged as the second dragon licked his cheek, drawing a laugh from the vala.


	2. Chapter 2

Something, somewhere, had clearly gone wrong.

They had designed with clear purpose in mind. First, as a loving, unique creation all Melkor’s own. Second, as protection in case any of those pesky elves came knocking on the door. And while the first purpose had materialized in the form of adoring dragonets on Melkor’s lap the second had well -

“They can’t breathe fire,” Melkor sighed, holding up the newest addition. “None of them.”

He looked at Mairon.

“Did we not breed them for such purpose?”

“Among others,” Mairon answered, holding a particularity wiggly one some distance away from his hair.

Melkor shook his head, patting the little creatures on the head. Mairon’s display of fire in the mouth of the prototype he had created had been so wonderful, so deadly, so … great. He had quite been looking forward to seeing it happen with a real dragon.

“They do display some signs,” Mairon said, hoping to cheer his master’s mood. “I’ve witnessed them shoot sparks after they, er, sneeze.”

At this Melkor perked up, inspiration flashing across his face.

“Yes!” he said, slightly jumping in his throne and sending a baby flopping onto his shoe. “That is it Mairon, we merely need to set them off. Give a, boost.”

Within minutes the two ainu, much to Mairon’s displeasure, found themselves settled upon the floor of the throne room. About them lay scattered feathers from some very unfortunate (now bald) eagles and several of the older dragons. Holding one each the two dark lords sat to wiggling said feathers about the little creature’s noses.

“Melkor,” Mairon said, not caring to think of how dirty his robes were becoming, “I’m not sure this is the best -”

“Shh, I think it’s working.”

Pulling away the feather Melkor watched as the dragon in his lap sniffed slightly, shaking his head for a moment and then opening his mouth.

“Ah!”

“Melkor I really -”

“Shh!”

“Ahh!”

Suddenly seeming to recall something quite important Melkor angled the dragon’s face away from his body.

“ACHOO!”

A bright burst of flame shot from the dragon’s mouth giving Mairon only seconds to duck. With a triumphant cry Melkor held the dragon above his head.

“It worked!”

“Yes,” mumbled Mairon, smoothing out the small flicker of fire on top of his head. “It did.”

With a small growl the dragon let out another burst of flame, kicking his legs with excitement.

“Grab another feather, Mairon,” Melkor said with a grin. “Only 499 to go.”


	3. Chapter 3

“This one.”

Smaug clicked his claws against the rim of the cup, thoughtful as he gazed at the shimmering jewel in Mairon’s hand. Light blue, it shone out against the yellow of his master’s hair and the red of the jumping flames.

“Turquoise!” he snapped at last, giving Mairon a fang filled grin.

“Very good.”

Dropping the small gem into the dragon’s eager wings, Mairon turned back to the parchment on his desk. What such a large area of lines and words meant, Smaug did not know, nor did he particularity care as he carefully arranged the stone at his feet. His third today, soon the cup would be full enough to empty in his own little hoard in the corner of the throne room.

At the sound of the large door swinging open Smaug glanced up, wings raising as the newcomer came into view.

“Mairon!”

“My lord!”

“Melkor!”

At the squeal of one of his dragons Melkor turned his attention downward, a soft smile coming to his face as Smaug waved his tail in greeting.

Taking the largest gem, a ruby, in his mouth the dragon stretched his small neck towards Melkor; an offer for the Lord of Angband.

“Your horde grows,” Melkor said, rolling the ruby about his fingers. “Soon you will be set forth with your brothers to claim vast riches.”

Giving the dragon a small pat with his finger Melkor turned his attention back to Mairon.

“And speaking of the elves,” he began, pausing as the sight of Mairon’s parchment caught his eye. “What are you working on?”

“Ah,” Mairon began with a smile.

What the project was Smaug did not care to listen, instead preferring to focus on the way Mairon’s eyes seemed to shine as he held Melkor’s attention. The way his father nodded, curiosity in his eyes, and a grin on his lips.

Much to learn from his masters, much to study.

“Then,’ Melkor was saying, placing a hand on the parchment. “you can work on my idea.”

A look of fear briefly crossed Mairon’s face.

“What is it?”

“Dragons!” Melkor said, his arms spreading wide. “The size of the great mountains, Mairon. What elf, man, or ainu would dare to approach such?”

“Who indeed?” Mairon mumbled and Smaug leaned closer.

He had seen this look before.

“These dragons,” Mairon continued, “Am I to craft them or …”

“Can you not breed such?”

Smaug grinned. Oh yes, he had seen this before. Mairon’s set mouth and narrowed eyes. Right before he explained to Melkor the, what did he call them?, complications with the latest plan.

“I could,” Mairon was now saying. “But my lord, where would we allow such creatures to live?”

“Outside?”

“What would we feed them?”

“The same as their brethren?”

Mairon pushed back his golden hair and Smaug gripped the rim of his cup.

“Master … Melkor. Such a creature would be - “

And thus the explanation commenced. Mairon’s careful, steady thinking, trying to sway Melkor’s quick, creative bursts. At each point Smaug nodded, his head seeming to bounce like an elf child’s toy as he leaned further and further outside his cup. Such talks were often listened to, if not entirely accepted and often an extra shiny piece would be rewarded him for taking Mairon’s side.

“Mairon,” Melkor said, holding up a finger. “I know your talent can accomplish it.”

Mairon sighed before a slight smile appeared.

“Yes, of course.”

They all ended this way of course. Mairon giving in, Melkor agreeing to certain points. This time however Smaug’s eager agreement had left him in a rather tricky situation. His upper body and wings now hanging half outside the cup he let out a squeak as the golden piece fell forward, tossing him and his small collection across the table.

Quickly he scrambled to his feet, looking first at Melkor and then Mairon.

With a laugh Melkor departed the room, shaking his head. Still glancing at Mairon, Smaug raised his wings hopefully.

“Oh here,” Mairon said, drawing a gold coin from his pocket. “I guess you earned it.”


	4. Chapter 4

Their favorite moments are when Melkor and Mairon work as one.

The dragons curled about Melkor’s shoulder, the wolves at Mairon’s side.

The beat of the hammer as Melkor turns the piece about.

The roar of the fire as Mairon sets it ablaze with a touch of his hand.

The voices of their masters as they speak and laugh and delight in a moment that makes them wonder of Utumno.

“Beautiful as always,” Melkor breathes when Mairon presents him the finished piece. “A work of art.”

The dragons crawl down his arms, peer up into his hands.

Marvel at how Mairon seems to glow as he grins and reaches for the next piece. 

Delight in their father’s suggestions, ideas, and thoughts. 

And rejoice, when the work is for them.


	5. Chapter 5

It starts off innocently enough.

A stolen gem here, a pretty babble there.

They are young, Mairon reasons. Curious, eager to explore and drawn to all things beautiful. What difference does a drop from the forge make? Melkor delights in them, and they in their turn seek to serve him well.

And then the stealing begins.

A ring slipped from where it has been left to cool.

A circlet snatched from a stand.

A work of gold plucked from its sitting place and the matching silver one gone in a flash.

Mairon sees them the next day on the floor, another drop in the growing sea of gold beside the throne. The dragons hiss, wave their tails, and scamper over the relics to cover them with their bellies.

“I have quite the hoard,” Melkor grins, crossing his legs and glancing down at the dragons with fatherly affection.

“Yes,” Mairon answers. “Quite.”

He has plenty of jewelry really. Rings to adore each finger, a circlet for each day of the year, and belts of trailing gold and gems that sparkle brighter than Varda’s stars. His rooms are a work of art, to say nothing of himself.

And yet.

It’s shrinking.

Mairon starts using desperate tactics.

A bed for the werepups on top of a chest. A daily inspection of the corners of the forge. A pile of elvish charms and trinkets taken from wailing orcs to draw their attention.

They get smarter then.

A tug on a wolf’s tail while another steals the prize.

A shriek from another room that draws his attention and upon his return his work is gone.

A pushed down door, bearing the prints of one of the older generations.

And the pile about Melkor’s throne grows.

“This looks like mine,” Mairon notes as he picks up a gold hair brush from the pile.

“Is it?” Melkor says, his eyes fixed on the hatchling on his lap. “I think I do remember you having it.”

Melkor knows. Mairon is sure of this. How often has the vala complimented his work?

He wakes one morning to one upon his pillow. Claws buried in his pillow, a strand of golden hair in his mouth. It falls away as he raises up, squeaks and sounds a warning to all its kin.

They scatter from all corners of the room, each with a mouthful of treasure.

“My Lord,” Mairon says later in the day (when he has dug deep into his closets for proper clothing and jewels) “perhaps we should boundaries upon the dragons.”

“Boundaries?” Melkor echos, sweeping the pile of overnight offerings from the throne.

“Yes,” Mairon says, plucking a particularity favorite ring from the pile. “They have become quite -”

His words never come as a winged dragon drops from the ceiling and snatches the circlet from his head. It delivers it into Melkor’s lap and the first voice that speaks then is the vala himself.

“Perhaps,” he says, holding back a grin as Mairon wipes the drool from his face. “You have a point.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much sadder than previous stories.

The sound is light, a faint clicking on armor as the creature shifts about and makes itself comfortable amid the sharp points and upon cold metal.

In the dim light of the throne room the spider watches as a black hand brushes over the scales, trails a single finger down the curling tail. The shadow is always so dark now, the creature upon it always so quiet in these days when the ground shakes and the mountain screams.

It is of no concern to the dragon; no worry as he yawns and stretches and relishes in the warmth of the hand upon him.

_The throne room is quiet as Mairon kneels by his master’s side, whispers to him the plots of the elves and the secrets of the Ainur. Quiet save for the sound of little claws tapping against black plates almost as strong as his own scales._

_His Lord has not spoken today, has only passed words through his mind and shared with Mairon his pain and fear through long glances._

_Something is coming, something terrible. A crackling in the air and the glow of the jewels is that of a white fire that Mairon wishes only to smother in the sea._

_“What is the name of this one?”_

_“Draigoch,” Melkor says, rubbing a finger under the dragon’s chin._

_There are always words for Mairon, always words for his children. Perhaps if he keeps him talking, keeps him focused on this comfort._

_“What gift has he bought you to so claim the spot of your lap on this day?” Mairon asks and forces a smile as Melkor closes his eyes._

_“Comfort,” he says, and his hand rests upon the dragon’s back._

The sound of a screech sounds from above and Sauron is pulled from memories of ages past. The dragon raises his head, eyes the window with curiosity. 

Only news of retreat, only news of the weakness of men.

None of the ring.

None of the bearer.

None of what he seeks.

The hand drops for a second, curls around the arm of the throne and pushes forth the orcs that squirm over the land like worms. Let the men hide behind their walls of stone. He’ll throw them down, drown them as -

The dragon calls then, nudges his hand with its head and taps a foot in impatience.

The heat of his hand returns, trails over the scales and the younger Draigoch curls upon his lap once more.


	7. Chapter 7

“They’re hatching bigger.”

Melkor’s voice sounds almost sad, regretful, thinks Mairon as the two make their way through the dark halls of the fortress. 

Surely he understands the value, the benefit. After all dragons who are born fierce and large and with wind under their wings make for better protection. For better firepower. Less food, less time to wait, less -

Melkor is carrying one now, atop his shoulder, as he runs a hand over each of his new sons. A small runt of a dragon who eyes his larger brothers with fierce interest and screeches when one raises his head. 

“Relonikiv,” Melkor says, testing the name on his lips. 

The dragon growls, spreads his wings and Mairon cannot help but be a bit prideful. Only hours old and already prepared for war. Scales as strong as armor, wings with the force of a hurricane, claws as sharp as spears. Large enough to bring a house of elves down about his feet. 

Oh he has room to grow of course, he’s only a child after all. But a far greater child than those of the past who hatched with folded wings and dull teeth. 

“Relonikiv,” Melkor repeats again and the dragon almost purrs, eyeing Melkor as the vala strokes his head and smiles. 

“A fine name name,” Mairon says.

“A fine creature,” Melkor replies. “You have done well in your breeding of them.”

The small dragon on his shoulder cries out, bats at Melkor with wings as thin as cloth. Melkor laughs and the little creature is rewarded with a pat of its own. 

“We need not breed them all to be the same,” he says suddenly, a soft light in his eyes. “Diversity won’t hurt.”

Mairon chuckles.

“Of course Melkor.”


End file.
